


Curiosity

by Sed



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Bodyswap, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 00:57:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7780714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sed/pseuds/Sed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sick of Q’s fixation on That Human, some of the other Q decide that what he needs is too much of a good thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Curiosity

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2016 QCard BigBang. It was finished prior to the August 13th deadline, but unfortunate convention dates forced me to post late. I appreciate the great patience of our wonderful event mod.
> 
> This story is set some time around the later seasons of Star Trek: The Next Generation.

Red lights flashed all around the arc of the bridge, and the ship’s alert system blared in defiance of the way her captain stood frozen, eyes wide, staring blankly at the face of his first officer.

“Captain?” Riker prompted. He had seen Jean-Luc Picard hesitate before—but never in battle. Never with the lives of his crew and the civilians on board the _Enterprise_ at stake. “Your orders, sir?”

“My _what?_ ” Picard asked incredulously.

Although concern tugged at him like a hook, Riker swiveled to face Worf without so much as a pause. “Return fire, Lieutenant,” he commanded, noting that even Worf seemed confused by the sudden change in the captain's behavior.

“The enemy ship is withdrawing. Pursue, Commander?”

Riker shook his head. The immediate threat had been dealt with, now he wanted answers. “Wait ‘til they’ve cleared the system and then stand down from Red Alert.” He slapped his combadge. “Doctor Crusher to the bridge. There’s something… wrong… with the captain.”

 _“I’m on my way,”_ the doctor responded promptly.

“Captain, maybe you’d like to sit,” Riker suggested, gesturing to the seat behind him.

“Why do you keep _calling_ me that?” the captain insisted. He violently shrugged Riker’s hand from his shoulder as the younger officer tried to steer him over to the command chair. “How did I even _get_ here? Am I—” Picard froze, and so did the rest of the bridge as they watched the strange spectacle play out before them. “Oh. Oh _no,_ ” the captain groaned. He buried his face in his hands and shook his head. “Oh, not this. I’m—” Riker watched through narrowed eyes as the captain groped his fingertips along the top of his head and sighed.

“Sir, I think you need to sit down.”

“No, _you_ need to sit down, Riker. And stop _staring_ at me, it’s making my skin crawl. That I even _have_  actual skin is bad enough.” He finally sat down, nearly throwing himself into the center chair with a melodramatic sigh. “Again,” he muttered sullenly. “Wasn’t watching me wriggle around in the dirt with them enough for you the first time?”

The doctor arrived then, and she moved swiftly from the turbolift to the front of the captain’s chair, tricorder in hand as she scanned him from head to toe. “I’m not detecting anything out of the ordinary.” She crouched before him and looked up with a doctor’s practiced smile. “Jean-Luc,” she said gently, “how are you feeling?”

“I am _not_ …” the captain began, only to freeze. His mouth hung open and his features twisted in obvious aggravation. He worked his jaw a few times, but no sound came out. “I’m actually—” Again he seemed to freeze. “Oh, you have got to be _kidding_ me,” he growled through clenched teeth. “This is too much, even for you!”

“Me?” the doctor asked.

“No, not you, why would I be talking to you?” He threw a hand back and slapped it down on the arm of the chair with a sigh. “Fine. If that’s how you're going to be about it...” He looked up at Riker. “Blow up the ship.”

Riker’s eyes went wide. “Do _what?_ ”

“I have no intention of staying here. I’ve been through this before and I really _don’t_ want to go through it again. Certainly not like _this,_ ” the captain said, sweeping a hand in front of himself to gesture to his own body. “They’ve removed the one being on this plodding little ship who is even remotely capable of entertaining me, rendering this entire ordeal a pointless torment with no end. No end soon enough for me, at any rate. I’d rather just be done with it.” He made a shooing gesture at Riker, as if to underscore his previous irrational command. “Are you going to do what I told you to, or not?”

“ _Not,_ ” Riker growled. “I don’t know what’s going on, or who you are, but I refuse to believe you’re Captain Picard. He would never casually order the destruction of this ship and its crew.”

Whoever—or whatever—it was wearing the captain’s form looked up at him with unguarded shock. “Why, Riker, you _are_ capable of critical thought after all! What would the other Rikers back in the cave think of you now?”

“ _Q_.”

“I’m so glad we didn’t have to pick through the other twenty-five letters of the alphabet before you arrived at that conclusion.”

Drawing himself up to his full height, Riker glared down at the entity pretending to be his captain. “What have you done with Captain Picard?” he demanded.

But Q didn’t answer him. Instead, he very deliberately turned to Doctor Crusher and asked, “Have you ever wanted to kill a man?”

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

“You spend all that time saving lives, haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like to just snuff one out now and then?”

“Enough!” Riker shouted over him. “Put the captain back and get out of here,” he demanded sternly. “ _Now_.”

“You’ve already fired what few working neurons you have in that inefficient brain of yours, so I’ll be very clear, and speak very slowly: _I. Can’t._ I can’t leave, and I can’t bring your less disappointing paternal surrogate back to you. Before you ask why,” he said quickly, interrupting Riker before he could speak again, “no, I _don’t_ know what’s happened to cause this. If I were being punished again, I would know it. I'm guaranteed at least that much.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Of course you don’t,” Q said. “Why accept facts when it’s so much easier to simply invent the answers yourself. You’re a true product of your evolution, Riker. And I don’t mean that as a compliment.”

“Mister Worf,” Riker said, his eyes still locked on Q’s, “Confine our _guest_ to quarters while we figure out what the hell is going on. And make sure there’s nothing in there he can use to hurt himself. Until we know if that really is the captain’s body, I’m not taking any chances.”

“I assure you that this is the same physical form your captain has been bound to his entire existence, and I give you my word that I won’t cause it any harm— _if_ you promise to help me set things right.”

“Help you? I hope for your sake that’s a joke, Q.”

Q scoffed. “We’ve been through this before, Riker. Only this time I doubt it’s going to be as simple as making a good-faith gesture to reset the rightful order of the universe. Or at least _my_ universe.” He tried to jerk away from Worf’s grip—failing to do so and nearly throwing himself off balance in the process. It was a familiar frustration. “If you want your precious captain back, we’re going to have to work together.”

“Working with you is the _last_ thing I intend to do,” Riker muttered as the turbolift doors opened and Worf ushered Q inside.

 

  
“What is this?” Q asked. His eyes tracked a nameless Starfleet lieutenant making her way down the corridor, and he sneered at her as he watched her gaze flicker to him for a fraction of a second. “These aren’t Picard’s quarters.”

“You are _not_ Captain Picard,” Worf said matter-of-factly. He tapped the panel and waited for the door to open before gracelessly pushing Q into the room.

It was a small space, with little in the way of décor, and only one small bed set against the wall in the middle of the room. There were no windows looking out on the exterior starscape. “You can’t lock me in this _closet,_ ” Q said. “I’ll go mad in here.”

The look Worf gave him suggested that he took the plea less than seriously. He stepped back out of the room and shut the door, leaving Q to his solitude, all alone to contemplate how he had ended up in such a ridiculous mess. He could only imagine that it had been the others—they didn’t understand his strange fascination with humanity, and this must have been their answer to the growing problem of a Q’s fixation. But why Picard? Why trap him in the body of _this_ particular limited, albeit occasionally amusing human?

Q looked down at his own chest. He plucked at the fabric, making a disgusted face. It certainly wasn’t as comfortable as his made-up facsimile had been. He was surprised Riker hadn’t thought to pull the gold pips from his collar before exiling him to his forgotten corner of the ship. Perhaps it was only Picard who had found the uniform and its accessories so unsettlingly offensive, though.

With a heavy sigh, Q lowered himself onto the bed. “Wherever you are, _mon capitaine,_ ” he muttered, “I hope you’re enjoying it more than I am.”

  
*

  
For the first few seconds—or were they minutes, perhaps even hours?—Jean-Luc’s awareness reached no further than his own nebulous sense of self. He simply _was_. Only the certainty that others were nearby, watching him intently, pulled his focus outward. He attempted to reach out a hand, only to find he had none to reach _with_. That was when the panic began. He thrashed and flailed, trying to force himself to move, but it accomplished nothing. All the while he could feel the others observing him, and their casual amusement burned in his mind like a brand.

“Who are you? Where am I?” he tried to demand, but no words came. Still, he was somehow certain that the others understood him regardless of his apparent silence.

“ _Put me back on my ship,_ ” he thought, rather than said.

 _“In time,”_ came the reply. He did not hear the words; instead he _felt_ them, somewhere deep within whatever had become of his being.

“ _How much time?_ ” he couldn’t help but wonder, instantly aware that the beings would undoubtedly interpret that as a question they were meant to answer.

Their annoyance was as palpable as anything else he’d felt up to that point, and the sheer force of it worried him. He was clearly at their mercy, whatever _they_ were, and it was in his best interests to remain in their good graces. At the very least it would be prudent not to raise their ire until they had completed whatever it was they sought that required ripping him from the physical realm and depositing his consciousness elsewhere. “ _My apologies,_ ” he thought. “ _At the moment I find it rather difficult to keep from contemplating my predicament_.”

He could feel them thinking, and it was a relief to realize that they found his explanation curious, rather than aggravating. His sense of time’s passage felt indistinct and the moments seemed to blur together into a mass that he couldn’t name or identify, but he waited patiently nevertheless. After some time it seemed as though they had reached a decision, and their attention again returned to him.

Only whether or not that was a positive turn of events had yet to be determined.

  
*

  
Alone, and now stripped down to the captain’s black slacks and a dark gray undershirt (humans and their appallingly mundane concept of fashion), Q began looking for ways to keep himself busy. He quickly discovered that the replicator had been limited to a handful of inoffensive options, most of them vile and inedible, as most food concocted by such myopic creatures often was. Of course tea was offered, but only within a select temperature range. Riker must have taken his little joke about blowing up the ship more seriously than he’d anticipated. Not that Q would have complained if he’d actually done it. He really did _not_ want to spend the rest of his existence as a human.

Although, if forced to choose… Q stepped up to a full-length mirror beside the bedroom door and smoothed a hand over the front of the uniform. “I suppose it could be worse,” he sighed at the face that wasn’t his own.

But not by much.

The door, he discovered after some time, wasn’t actually _locked_. An interesting oversight in security that Q decided he would mention the next time he encountered Riker or his top heavy pet Klingon. His ability to open the door allowed him to interact with the security personnel standing watch outside, and Q took considerable advantage of that to pass the time.

“But you’ve never actually experienced most of what you  _think_ you've seen,” he complained to the ensign on his right. “Not up close. Observing cosmic phenomena _in person_ really is the only way to do it.” He turned to the other officer on the left. “You understand what I mean, I’m sure.”

Neither answered. The conversation had been entirely one sided from the start, which meant it was only marginally less interesting than if they had made an attempt to humor him.

Soon enough more suitable entertainment returned, however, and for once Q was actually pleased to see Worf’s dour grimace. He leaned as far into the corridor as his jailers would allow and waved. “Welcome back, have you come to retrieve me so we can get to work—ow!” he yelped when Worf’s enormous hand closed around his upper arm. “Don’t you think Picard would prefer to get his body back with _all_ limbs still attached? I’m surprised they let you walk around without a handler, look at you. Animal.”

“Silence yourself, if you are even capable of it,” Worf growled. He trudged along the corridor with Q in tow until they reached a turbolift. The doors opened for them and Q once more found himself rudely thrust into the small space. This time he was ready for it; he managed to stop just shy of colliding with the back wall.

“Where are we going? To the bridge?” Q practically bounced on his toes. “Oh, I can’t wait to see the look on Riker’s face when he has to ask for my help retrieving his precious captain.”

Worf said nothing, and only stared at the doors of the turbolift.

“Of course, there are no guarantees,” Q continued, affecting a more casual tone. He pretended to examine his fingernails. “I suppose we should all prepare ourselves for the possibility that _this,_ ” he used his whole arm to gesture to himself, “is the new normal. In which case I won’t be offended if you take some time learning to call me _Captain Q_. I don’t expect you to embrace change as quickly as the others, after all. I’m sensitive to your shortcomings.” He waited for some sort of response, but Worf remained stubbornly silent. Q cocked his head and asked, “You’re thinking about killing me, aren’t you?”

He finally received a low hum of affirmation.

“In that case, I assume the only thing stopping you is that you can’t be certain this _isn’t_ actually Picard’s body?”

The Klingon’s stony silence was more than enough of an answer.

Q feigned shock. “That’s no way to treat your captain.”

The turbolift stopped, and Worf hauled Q through the doors and out into the bridge. Only they didn’t stop there; they continued on into the observation lounge. Q was only somewhat disappointed by the change in venue. He really would have preferred the bridge. It felt right, what with him wearing all the accoutrements of a captain. Including the captain.

He was still peering longingly over his shoulder when he heard what was possibly the most (and potentially only) unsettling sound to ever reach his ears: his own voice.

“Please, have a seat, Q,” his voice instructed.

  
*

  
Jean-Luc would never allow his amusement to show, certainly not under such extraordinarily strange circumstances, when he could sense the tension and discomfort of his senior staff. But he _was_ amused. Q’s startled expression and the way he half-stumbled into an empty seat nearly made the whole ordeal worthwhile. Nearly. The beings he had encountered—whom Jean-Luc had eventually come to understand were other members of the Q Continuum—were very clear in their guarantee that he would not be trapped in the form of his omnipotent tormentor forever. That had been reassuring at first, until he had stopped to consider what _forever_ might mean to a Q. Just how long was _too long_ to one of their kind? Weeks? _Years?_ Regardless of the answer, one thing had been made painfully clear to him before he was unceremoniously thrust back into being aboard the _Enterprise_ ; setting things right for everyone depended entirely on Q. Not his help, not his input—on _him_.

And while Jean-Luc wasn’t entirely certain just what that meant, he did know that it wasn’t going to be easy. Nothing ever was where the Q were concerned.

“I’ve already discussed the matter with my officers, so I hope you won’t mind if I simply fill you in.” Jean-Luc began.

Q was already close to apoplectic before he had even finished. “As a matter of fact I do mind,” he sputtered. “And get out of me! Get out of—you know what I mean. You haven’t earned that body!”

Ignoring the ridiculous outburst, Jean-Luc turned to the others and said, “Obviously, the first step is to relieve myself of command. I doubt the rest of the crew will be able to take me seriously like this.”

“How incredibly rude,” Q gasped from the other end of the table.

“I will, of course, continue to assist in any and all efforts to discover what it is we’re expected to do, in the hopes that we can convince the other Q to reverse this… farcical jest.” The last words he said while pointedly looking down the long table at Q.

“You know, now that you mention it,” Q said, “I do have trouble taking you seriously like this. Maybe that’s been the problem this whole time.”

Still ignoring him, Jean-Luc continued. “The last time we found ourselves faced with a similar situation involving the Q, the means of fixing the situation was entirely conditional on his behavior. I find it reasonable to assume that this may be yet another ‘lesson’ from the Continuum. The rules may even be the same.”

Geordi leaned forward and cleared his throat. “Sir, what if we _can’t_ find a way to get you two back where you belong?”

“Believe me, I have considered it. And I think, in this case, we’ll simply have to cross that bridge when we come to it. Hopefully we never do.”

There was a general murmur of agreement, and then Beverly spoke up. “Well, you’re healthy enough from what I can tell. If this becomes permanent you could conceivably return to duty. Of course, I don’t know what Starfleet will have to say about this, they may recommend counseling.”

“I imagine that will be necessary regardless,” Jean-Luc chuckled. He was relieved to see the others joining him in the joke—all but Q, of course.

“Go ahead and laugh,” Q snapped. Jean-Luc noticed that he didn’t follow it up with his customary array of biting wit. He had crossed his arms over his chest and slumped down in his chair, scowling at everyone in turn. His angry gaze lingered the longest on Jean-Luc, and there was no need to guess why.

“In the meantime, Q, you are free to move about the ship as you wish. I see no reason to keep you confined any longer. Now that you know there may be a way to return you to your former self, I assume you’ll make no attempts to endanger my body.” He fixed Q with a look he hoped would say, _Oh, yes, Will told me about that_. “Is that satisfactory?”

Perking up a bit, Q said, “As much as anything can be under these dreadful circumstances.”

“Well, in that case,” Jean-Luc said, “Number One, I’d like you to take command until further notice.”

The meeting thus concluded, everyone was dismissed, and the task of unraveling the latest Q caper began. For his own part, Jean-Luc was exhausted. Being ripped from his very being and left to float aimlessly in some intangible void had proven to be surprisingly tiring. Attempting to hide that fact from his crew had taken what little energy he had left. He straightened out his uniform and set out for his quarters.

It didn’t take long to note that he was being shadowed by Q.

“If this can wait,” he said once Q caught up to him, “I could really use some sleep.”

“I’m coming with you,” Q insisted.

In his current state it took Jean-Luc more than a moment to process what he’d heard. “Pardon?”

“While I can’t exactly fault you for such curiosity, I understand the temptation you’ll be facing, and, well… to put it plainly, I don’t trust _you_ with _me_.”

Q seemed to believe that made sense, and so he offered no further explanation. Jean-Luc sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Q…”

“If _I_ were a simple creature suddenly thrust into the body of a god, I imagine I would want to explore it too. But we have to observe propriety.” He waggled an adominishing finger. “No touching.”

“Q! Don’t be vulgar!” Jean-Luc exclaimed. He looked around to make sure there was no one else with them in the corridor. “How dare you suggest that I would ever—”

“Oh, please, chaste doesn’t suit you, _mon capitaine_. And now that I’m seeing it from the outside, neither does that uniform, really,” he stepped back to take a look at what had been his body until recently. Jean-Luc found it made him feel extremely uncomfortable, though part of him felt it really shouldn’t have, given that it wasn’t really _his_ body. “Anyhow, lead on. You can be the big spoon if you _really_ want to,” he said, rolling his eyes.

Jean-Luc was stunned into silence. Did Q really think…?

Of course he did. He was Q, after all. “Don’t be absurd, Q. I am not _napping_ with you.”

“You said I was free to,” Q held up his fingers in mock quotation marks, “ _move about the ship as I wish_.” He shrugged.

“That didn’t mean—” It took a considerable amount of willpower to stop himself from falling into the trap Q had baited for him. He would not allow himself to be led so easily. “Despite all appearances to the contrary, you are not a fool, Q. You know damned well what I meant when I said that.”

“All appearances to the contrary? You _do_ recall who’s body I’m traipsing about the ship in, don’t you?”

But Jean-Luc was already walking away, and although he had winced inwardly at his unintentional self-ridicule, he soundly ignored the urge to say something to correct the error. Q continued to follow him, of course, but he ignored that too.

They were nearing his quarters when the sound of Q’s footsteps behind him finally ceased, and he heard the entity make a resigned sound halfway between a sigh and a groan. “Fine,” Q huffed. “If you won’t be reasonable about this…”

Jean-Luc’s shoulders slumped. He knew—he _knew_ —Q was about to say something that he couldn’t ignore. Turning slightly, he glanced over his shoulder.

Q had reached below the hem of his gray shirt and was slowly sliding one finger back and forth along the underside of the fabric. His eyes were cast downward, and he’d caught his lower lip between his teeth as he repeated the gesture a few more times before saying, “I guess fair is fair.”

While Jean-Luc had never had any intention whatsoever of engaging in the sort of activity Q suggested, up to that moment he hadn’t considered that his own body might be in any danger of becoming a playground for Q’s curiosity. Now the thought slammed into him at an alarming speed, and his eyes widened. “Fine,” he said tightly. “But you will sleep on the floor.”

“I will not,” Q said, offended.

“You will, Q, and that is the end of the discussion.”

  
*

  
It had been a mistake, after all. Q wasn’t even a little tired, and lying there, listening to the roar of his own sinus cavities next to him was a torment even he couldn’t have devised. He had managed to argue his way into the bed (it was a terribly simple matter to manipulate lower lifeforms when they were sleepy), but Jean-Luc had drawn the line at letting him share the blanket. At first that wasn’t a problem, but a curious thing had happened in the hours that followed: despite the ambient temperature in the room remaining at a preset constant, Q found that he was getting _cold_. It had started in his legs, and then moved up to his arms, and now he was shivering. Shivering! Like an animal!

Q had considered ignoring his instructions and stealing some of the blanket for himself. After all the times he had watched Picard sleep—only to amuse himself with the thought of how much it would anger the good captain to know he’d been observed in such a vulnerable state, of course—Q had some idea of the man’s sleeping habits. He was almost certain he could manage to wriggle under the blanket without waking his reluctant bedmate. But every time he had watched Jean-Luc in the past it was when he was in _his_ body. Not Q’s. And Q himself had only been a human for a few short days the last time. He certainly hadn’t been conscious while he slept, either. So how could he know if he was a light sleeper? Discovering that his body snored was humiliating enough, though it didn’t seem to bother the captain at all—he had woken up once when it started, mumbled something incoherent, and then rolled over and gone right back to sleep. But the thought of being discovered in the process of trying to steal warmth from a mortal was simply inexcusable.

To add insult to injury, and to Q’s great confusion and disappointment, Picard hadn’t even given his new body so much as a second glance before passing out like an overworked beast of burden.

 _Fine!_ Q thought. He wasn’t exactly sure _why_ he was so disappointed, but he was, and that realization only annoyed him more. _If he won’t appreciate what he’s been granted, then it’s his loss._

He resolved not to think about it any longer. He would simply clear his mind and make himself slip into the welcoming arms of sleep.

Q closed his eyes.

 

 

It wasn’t working.

Why _didn’t_ Picard want to take advantage of his good fortune? Humans were eternally curious creatures, that trait itself was most of their charm. The captain was no exception. If Q was tempted, certainly Picard, no matter how stalwart, must have been too?

A uncomfortable feeling settled in the pit of Q’s stomach (he detested having a stomach). “Wake up,” he said to the human lying next to him. “Jean-Luc, we need to talk.”

The endless grinding and rattling stopped, and the captain sat up in a rush, throwing aside the blanket. “What?!” he demanded. He then turned to Q and closed his eyes as he sighed. “I had hoped it was an awful nightmare.”

“Churlish, but I’ll forgive you this one time. We have to talk about something,” Q said.

“We don’t _have_ to talk about anything, Q. Computer, time,” Jean-Luc snapped.

The computer answered, but Q talked over it. “I’ve been struck by the most uncomfortable realization, Picard, and we have to discuss it now, because I don’t know what conclusions I’ll come to on my own if forced to spend another moment trapped with my own thoughts.”

The captain put a hand up to stop the tide of words. “Alright, Q, enough. What is it?”

Q steadied himself. If Picard thought sharing a bed was awkward… “You recall that I accused you of wanting to do unseemly things to my person while you were occupying it?”

“Vividly.”

“What if—and do try to keep an open mind, after all I am being uncharacteristically generous—what if we did… do… that.” He finished by clearing his throat and trying to smile in a way that he felt was hopefully disarming.

Thirty seconds, perhaps forty, may have been understandable. But Jean-Luc continued to stare for much longer than Q considered polite, passing into the realm of extremely uncomfortable. Having always known the power to simply tell what was rattling around in the minds of lesser creatures, the sudden knowledge that he couldn’t even read Picard’s _expression_ disturbed him.

“Well?” he prompted when the silence began to make him feel sillier than the pajamas he had been instructed (forced) to wear.

Picard blinked a few times and took a deep breath. “Well…”

  
*

  
“Well, Q, I think these are extraordinary circumstances. For both of us, certainly. I think you’re confused, and I think it’s entirely reasonable that you should be.”

Q seemed offended, as if the understanding Jean-Luc offered him had been a slap across the face, rather than a kindness. “Are you trying to counsel me, Picard?” he demanded.

“I am suggesting that you don’t really know the right way to respond to a sudden, drastic change in your reality such as this, and perhaps you’re responding in a way that isn’t entirely appropriate.”

Even he couldn’t make himself believe what he was saying. They both knew what he really meant: Q has lost his mind.

“Your valiant attemps to rationalize this notwithstanding, I don’t think you appreciate what it is I’m offering you. How many beings can say they’ve had the opportunity to try it out from the other side?” Q asked. “You might not have my omnipotence, but you have everything else. I think you’d agree I’ve done a pretty good job, all things considered.” He gestured to Jean-Luc, obviously indicating the body he had crafted.

But Jean-Luc wasn’t fooled for a second. All the bravado Q could muster didn’t hide the truth. “ _You’re the one who is curious,_ ” he whispered, a smile creeping into his words even if he was able to hide it elsewhere. “If I didn’t know any better, Q, I’d think this was an elaborate ruse you concocted to…”

“To get you into bed?” Q tutted at him. “How tawdry.” But his expression belied his attempt at feigning arrogance.

Q clearly was no expert at reading humans without the aid of his powers, but Jean-Luc had spent a lifetime learning to discern his advantages from the smallest gestures. He watched Q search for an excuse to look away, and saw the movement of his throat as he swallowed down his own uncertainty. He was _nervous_. Something about that was delightful to Jean-Luc. Having Q on the ropes for once was a real treat. He decided to push his advantage just a bit. “Are you certain you could bring yourself to commit such an act with a _lower lifeform?_ ” he asked, placing a great deal of mocking emphasis on the last words.

Q scoffed. “Please, I’ve committed every form of intimacy and debauchery this universe has to offer, with creatures more complex and—in one or two regrettable cases—much simpler than you. I’ve even had sex with a human. What your kind calls sex, anyway.”

“You certainly know how to make a man feel special, Q,” Picard muttered. “But for all your many experiences, I’d wager you’ve never done anything like this.” Not in the body of human—a _real_ human. With all that entailed and all the unique differences it implied. And not as the one human he seemed to find so endlessly entertaining.

Q was quiet for a moment, and then he truly surprised Jean-Luc by nodding. “You’re right.”

“I’m glad you’re big enough to admit that.”

“Self-importance is an ill-fitting look on you, Picard,” Q snapped. “Yes or no?”

Jean-Luc thought about it, fully aware that there was no end to the potential ramifications of inviting a Q into his bed—any more so than he had already, at least. And _this_ Q in particular. But nor could he ignore the the nagging feeling that tugged at the back of his mind. For all that he had accused Q of it, he _was_ genuinely intrigued by the idea himself. It certainly was an arena of exploration he couldn’t recall anyone else having traversed before.

He nodded once. “But there must be rules, Q—”

“I assume you’re going to warn me never to share a word of this encounter, and  _especially_ not with your precious crew. Correct?”

“Yes. And you are not to expect that this will become a regular occurrence. This will happen once, and only once. You understand?”

Q rolled his eyes. “I thought we had already discussed the subject of self-importance.”

Jean-Luc thought it was extraordinarily hypocritical of Q to lecture anyone else regarding their arrogance, but he decided to forego the lecture that would undoubtedly fall on deaf ears. He was also certain that, despite Q’s dismissal, this would not be the last time they broached the subject of intimacy. Q had a nasty habit of becoming fixated on anything that brought him even the slightest bit of amusement.

So why, Jean-Luc wondered, was he going ahead with Q's proposal?

The answer was simple: curiosity.

  
*

  
What he’d told Picard was true, of course; he had experienced countless similar encounters with creatures the dear captain could scarcely imagine. Some had known his true nature at the time, others had not. More than one had felt blessed by the affair, believing themselves touched (in nearly every sense of the word) by a divine being. He had also talked one or two humans into a liaison out of pure curiosity, always careful to conceal his true identity due to Starfleet’s insistence on classifying him as some sort of antagonistic lifeform, but never utilizing any undue form of influence. And he had certainly _never_ had to resort to begging.

Though he’d come very close to it with Picard.

And, if he was honest with himself, it may have been worth it. A few moments of humiliation, less than the whisper of a second on the overall punch clock of the universe, really. All for a startlingly unique experience that he was _kicking himself_ for neglecting before. Of course it was better when he wasn’t just going through the motions. Everything was. It was why humans stashed inebriating beverages they weren’t supposed to have, when they had invented technology that would dispense the exact same substance down to the molecular level, minus the harmful side effects. The genuine article was always preferable to an imitation.

And oh, how he _hated_ himself for enjoying the genuine article so much. Picard’s hands were on his waist, holding him close, and his mouth was doing something to Q’s ear that made him feel like he needed to laugh. He seemed to know everywhere to touch. Of course he did, Q quickly realized—it was _his_ body. How unlike the captain to cheat. Q was about to say as much when he felt fingers tugging at his waistband.

If Picard had just allowed him to sleep naked like he’d asked, they could have skipped that part entirely. But then, he reminded himself, he was having an unreasonably good time just getting past their clothing.

“Q, stop squirming,” Jean-Luc muttered in his ear.

“I thought that was the point of this,” Q sighed.

The captain pulled away and leaned back. “And you say you’ve done this before?”

“Don’t be so dense, Jean-Luc, it’s all squirming of one kind or another. Just because you’ve romanticized it—”

Picard silenced him with a kiss that was perhaps a bit more aggressive than he would have preferred, but it quickly softened into something much more enjoyable. Q reached up and wrapped his arms around the captain’s shoulders— _his_ shoulders. He quite liked them, now that he really had a chance to appreciate the way they felt. In fact, he was enjoying all the parts of his now-former body that he’d never paid any attention to before. Everywhere he touched he found that his palms, his fingertips, his skin met something new and exciting that had been there all along, but he had never bothered to think of beyond its ability to haul around his being. And it was all so _warm_. The chill in the room had disappeared, and Q felt the heat of his skin—and _his_ skin—and it made him groan into the captain’s open mouth.

His reward was the roll of Jean-Luc’s hips, so strong that it nearly knocked him off balance. Q managed to right himself, but only for a moment; sensing his advantage, Jean-Luc shifted his weight again and sent Q tumbling backwards onto the bed. “Let’s move things along, shall we?” the captain asked breathlessly.

“You seem to be enjoying my body,” Q noted with some unexpected jealousy (where had _that_ come from?). “Are you sure you’ll want to give it back?”

“Have you considered that what I’m enjoying most is _my_ body?”

Q opened his mouth to answer, but quickly shut it again. That was a fair, if not incredibly insulting question. He reached up to tug at the captain’s shirt. It was a pale blue material, silky under his fingers, and it actually looked rather _good_ on his body. He was beginning to wonder if humans didn’t have some idea what they were doing after all. Jean-Luc seemed to take that as a signal to divest himself of the garment, and he quickly reached up to pull it off and toss it aside. He sat astride one of Q’s thighs, and the warmth of where their skin touched made Q’s throat feel tight. He reached up to pull Jean-Luc closer. At first the captain obliged, smiling at Q in a way that made it clear he was enjoying himself. But then he stopped.

Q shot him a curious look. “What?” he asked.

Jean-Luc frowned, looking down almost regretfully at Q, and for an alarming few seconds Q was sure he was about to call the whole thing off. Then he shook his head and smiled again. “It’s nothing,” he said. As if the whole incident had never happened, he continued his course down and settled himself over Q like a broad, warm blanket. The hard length between Q's legs was answered by one pressed against his abdomen, and the recognition of that made something in Q’s chest coil tight with anticipation. All of his previous concerns now thoroughly wiped from his mind, he allowed himself to enjoy the sensation of their bodies tangled with one another, and the hands that now roamed his hips and swept his thighs with eager, searching fingers.

The lips that had been tormenting him before were back at his ear, but now they traveled down, grazing his neck and lingering just a few wonderful seconds at his collar; Jean-Luc used the distraction to untie the drawstring of Q’s shorts. Damn him—those were his clothes too, Q realized. Conniving human, he had all the advantages! Q was ready to object when the captain slipped his hand down under the fabric, and Q’s complaints died on his lips, melting into a deep, rumbling groan. He thought he had been warm before, now a powerful flush crept along his entire body, radiating from his center and the hand that moved expertly between his legs.

“Cheating…” Q managed to murmur. “Cheating.”

Against the crook of his neck Jean-Luc whispered, “Call it a tactical advantage.”

Q couldn’t help himself; his hips seemed to move of their own accord, driven by the need for more contact. He had thrown his head back against the pillow and his hands pulled desperately at the blanket beneath him as the captain worked him into a state that he knew, in the back of his mind, should have shamed him. But he didn’t care at that moment. Picard could have done whatever he wanted, and Q tried to say as much. He wasn’t sure if any of his words had made it past the heavy gasps and rough groans that each stroke tore from his throat, but he made an effort.

Something must have made it through, though, because the captain abruptly stopped. While Q watched with one eyebrow cocked curiously, Picard sat back and began to remove the rest of his nightclothes. He made a gesture for Q, who was still wearing both pieces of clothing, to do the same.

“You’re awfully comfortable giving orders to me,” Q groused. He was still dizzy from the captain’s touch, and longing for more, but he didn’t dare show it. Although part of him was aware that there was no way Jean-Luc _wouldn’t_ know that already. Once he had shimmied out of his borrowed clothing he turned back, ready to make another sarcastic comment, and promptly found himself thrown back onto the bed once more. Now there was _nothing_ between them; no slippery silk, no blankets, no space. Q absently searched for the closest bit of skin with his mouth and found himself kissing Jean-Luc’s arm. He needed contact, he craved it, and he was rewarded with more.

They lay tangled atop the bed for some time, touching one another, exploring skin and the unusual sensation of knowing it but not really knowing it at all. Q was starting to grow impatient when he suddenly found himself bereft of all touch, cold and completely alone in the bed. Jean-Luc had gotten up and was over by the wall, pulling something from the replicator.

It only took a moment for him to return, but Q had grown tired of waiting well before that. “What was so incredibly important that—” He stopped when he realized _what_ Jean-Luc was preparing to do with the contents of the vial that he had acquired. “Well,” he admitted with a half-shrug, “I suppose it’s fortunate one of us is experienced with these little necessities.”

“Yes, Q. I’m certain you’ve had the fortune to ignore such trivialities in the past, but despite your many irritating qualities, I don’t actually wish to harm you. Or myself, for that matter.”

Q laughed. “You may call them irritating, dear captain, but consider where you are and what you’re preparing to do.”

The answer from Jean-Luc was an absent chuckle as he carefully took himself in hand and spread a measure of the slick liquid over his length. Q was stunned into silence as he watched the admittedly shocking display from a man he had previously believed incapable of experiencing pleasure from anything but archaeological fragments and outwitting Romulans. His throat felt dry, and he licked his lips without even meaning to, which only seemed to encourage the captain more.

That it was _his body_ he was watching didn’t even occur to him anymore. In one form or another, it was _still_ Jean-Luc Picard, Q abruptly realized. Something about that made his nerves sing with anticipation as the captain moved over him and drew Q into the preparations with another generous application of that slippery liquid. Q turned his head aside and bit the heel of his palm as Jean-Luc readied him in perhaps the most drawn-out act of exquisite torment one being was capable of visiting upon another. All the while he whispered in Q’s ear, sometimes words, other times just sounds that made Q shiver as he urged the fingers working deftly inside him to move deeper. He now had _so many_ questions about the parts of the captain’s life he hadn’t taken the time to explore; he simply refused to believe that this was a first for the man, at either end of the deed.

“Are you ready for me, Q?” Jean-Luc breathed in his ear.

Q nodded frantically. He had been ready since Farpoint, he wanted to say, but the abrupt sensation of something much more substantial than fingers stalled his attempt to speak. He clutched Jean-Luc’s shoulders and willed himself to breathe—the voice in his ear kept urging him to relax, _relax_ , and he sincerely tried to. This, too, he had done before. But as with everything else he had felt since their first tentative touch that evening, it was nothing like he had ever experienced. There was no substitute, he discovered in the breathless seconds between gasps as the captain moved in him.

When it seemed as if there was no deeper the captain could go, he suddenly pulled back and thrust forward again. Q could hear himself cry out, and the sound was answered by a groan caught between clenched teeth in his ear. Jean-Luc had grasped one of Q’s thighs with one hand, and held the back of his neck and the side of his jaw with the other. Another jolt of pleasure rocked through Q’s body as the captain drove into him again, and Q realized after a moment that all discomfort had subsided; it was nothing but pleasure now, and he desperately wanted more. He lifted his hips to meet the next thrust, and Jean-Luc made a surprised sound. He craned his neck back and looked down at Q, and what he saw there must have eased any lingering concerns, because he immediately abandoned his slow thrusts for quicker, deeper ones that left Q clawing at the sheets until his fingertips hurt.

It was so unlike anything Q had expected of the captain that he was too stunned to make any sound at first, and then Jean-Luc reached between their bodies and took Q's erection in his hand again, and making sounds was _all_ he could do. Words failed him entirely, though a number of them flashed through his head at whirlwind speed. One hand latched onto the captain’s arm as a particularly hard thrust ripped Q’s fingers away from the blankets, and he was sure there would be bruises to account for later, but Picard didn’t seem to care.

Like so many aspects of their encounter, Q was acquainted with climax. The resolution of nearly all the carnal behavior of the countless species in the universe (among those that engaged in physical copulation, anyway). He knew far less proper names for it, but though he would never admit it to the captain, he had never actually experienced one for himself. There had never been a need to. It was unnecessary for him, and he felt he could still understand it well enough through vicarious example. Again, he had been wrong. The swell of arousal that surged through him as his body rushed to its release was rewarding enough, but with Jean-Luc still furiously slamming into him and the accompanying flash of pleasure that seemed to catch him by surprise _every single time,_ it was almost too much. When he came it was with a choked sound, a strangled gasp for air as his body seemed to shudder out the last in his lungs, and then the dizzying static of blood pounding in his ears. Somehow, in the midst of all that, he realized that Jean-Luc had reached his own limit, and then there was an awareness of a new sensation; a pressure and fullness he hadn’t expected. The body atop his own slowly lost its momentum, coming to a slow stop with a contented sigh. Q winced as Jean-Luc withdrew, and he only then realized how much his hips ached. The captain lowered himself to the bed beside him as Q stared at the ceiling with a lazy smile.

“Satisfied?” Jean-Luc asked, taking in a deep breath and letting it out as a long sigh. He seemed to be asking himself as much as Q. Or maybe that was just Q’s imagination.

Nodding mutely, Q tried to turn his head to answer, but then an all-too-familiar sensation enveloped him, coursing through him faster than any pleasure he had felt that evening. His attention snapped to elsewhere, and in an instant he was gone.

  
*

  
Jean-Luc stared at the empty space in his bed where Q had been only seconds before. Or rather, the empty space where _he_ had been. At the same moment he had disappeared, Q—or whomever had taken Q—had switched them back into their proper places. Jean-Luc searched himself for the signs of what he and Q had just done, but there were none. Nothing ached, and nothing was sore. It was as if it hadn’t happened at all. In a way, he supposed, that was ideal. Wasn’t it?

And whatever the Continuum had expected, they had either fulfilled it (a deeply disturbing thought), or subverted their intentions entirely. Knowing as little of the Q as he did, Jean-Luc found that either explanation was entirely within the realm of possibility.

He sighed into his palms and scrubbed his hands over his face. Regardless of the improved state Q had left him in, he was still in dire need of sleep. Their activities had left him just as exhausted as the out-of-body experience he’d been through earlier, and he had little to show for it but a memory he was certain would revisit him at the least convenient times, perhaps for years to come.

 

 

He was in his ready room, several days later, when Q reappeared. It was so silent, and absent his usual flash of fanfare, so his presence went unnoticed until he cleared his throat to announce himself. Startled, Jean-Luc nearly spilled the tea he had been preparing to drink.

“Damn it, Q, I think I preferred it when you made a spectacle of yourself every time you appeared,” he said angrily.

“And here I thought I was being polite. If that’s what you want, from now on I’ll make sure to announce myself with horns and banners.” Q folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the doorway. “You’ll be happy to know that you failed to meet the expectations of the Continuum.”

“Should I be?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Q said. He moved over to the chair in front of the captain’s desk and sat down. “You see, upon my return I discovered that their goal was to dissuade me from my interest in you.”

“I thought it was the Continuum who assigned you to monitor humanity,” Jean-Luc asked.

Q held up a hand. “Not humanity,” he said. “ _You_.”

So, Q’s interest in him was deeper than mere curiosity, as he had suspected. That made his cautionary set of rules prior to the fact all the more prudent. “Too much of a good thing,” Jean-Luc said with a nod.

“Exactly. And I thought you would be pleased to know that it backfired _completely_.”

Jean-Luc looked up from his desk. “Backfired?”

“Oh, _mon coeur,_ did you really think I would obey your silly rules? Ah—” He made a defensive gesture, interrupting the captain before he could object. “I will respect your wish to keep our liaison private, of course. For my own sake as much as yours. On one condition.”

The sinking feeling in Jean-Luc’s chest suddenly seemed as though it had been weighted by an anchor. “And just what condition might that be, Q?” he asked as calmly as he could manage.

Q leaned forward, his chest nearly touching the captain’s desk. “I want to know what stopped you that night. The _nothing_ you never shared with me.” He settled back in the seat again with a satisfied grin. “I’m sure you thought I had forgotten that, what with the spectacular display of vigor that followed.”

Jean-Luc set his tea on the desk and leaned back in his own chair. He considered lying, but with his powers restored, it was more than likely Q would know right away, and that might complicate matters. Matters that were quite complex already. He decided instead to tell the truth, and let the chips fall where they may. Taking a deep breath, he said, “I realized...” He paused to sit up straight and look Q in the eye. “I realized that I would have very much preferred to be there with you as _myself_ , and with you as yourself.”

Q, in all his grand omnipotence, and no longer bound to the flesh of a mere mortal, was silent. There was no mockery in his blank stare, no haughty derision. He simply looked down at the floor, and then with a flash of light, he disappeared.


End file.
